


the science of change

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Student/TA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:47:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6001489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Finn has: three hundred pages of reading to do, a life's calling to discover and declare, and a really, really, <i>unfairly</i> hot TA.</p><p>What Finn doesn't have, according to Rey: common sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the science of change

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to [Marc Bloch](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marc_Bloch). Turns out this whole _write what you know_ thing is some solid advice. (Except my college experience had significantly less in the way of student/TA sexytimes than this is probably going to.)

“So?” Rey says, as soon as Finn steps through the door. “What _is_ history?”

Instead of answering, Finn groans, tosses his backpack on the floor, and flops onto the couch, all in one not-so-fluid motion. Rey laughs as she scoots over to make room, lifting her laptop out of the way of his feet.

“Come on,” she says, “you promised you’d tell me as soon as you found out. Don’t tell me they’re making you wait til the end of the quarter.”

“No,” Finn says into the pillow. It’s what he means to say, anyway; it comes out more as a muffled _mmph_.

“What?”

Finn sighs and flops over. His feet push their way into Rey’s lap; she makes a face and starts tugging off his sneakers before they can get dirt everywhere.

“It’s three hundred pages of reading, _that’s_ what history is,” he says, this time without the pillow to mask his despair.

“What, during week one?” Rey’s eyes widen. “That’s insane. I thought this was an introductory course.”

“Yeah, well, apparently not so much. There’s only three other people signed up—a senior and two _grad students_.”

Rey makes another face. Finn would be amused about the apparent equivalency of dirty sneakers and grad students if he weren’t so distracted by the utter ruin that was his life, only four days into sophomore year.

“Well, that sucks,” says Rey. “Guess you’ll have to find something else. There’s still room in my aikido class!”

“No,” Finn says quickly. “For the last time, I’m not going to participate in your martial arts or your fencing or your rock-climbing or whatever the hell. Exercise comes in two forms: lifting heavy shit and running away from things. Anything else is just unnecessary.”

“I’m thinking of trying to get into Social Dance next quarter—” Rey pauses, frowns. “Did you say running _away_ from things? What do you think you’re running away from when you go jogging?”

“Zombies. Anyway, that’s not the point. I don’t just need units, I need to take a history class! What if history is my calling? I’ll never know if I don’t find out.”

Rey rolls her eyes, whether at the sentiment or the terrible way it was phrased, Finn’s not sure.

“Finn, your plan is idiotic,” she says. It’s annoying; even when she’s insulting him, her accent makes the words sound so sweet and lilting. International students are the worst. “You have to declare by the end of this year. You can’t possibly take classes from _every_ department by then.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re practically done with your major already.”

“I am not!” Rey says, even though she totally is. She came in as a mechanical engineering major and never looked back. Finn, meanwhile, is pretty sure he’s going to end up as one of those seventh-year seniors everybody insists don’t exist as this school. It’s his pathetic destiny.

“It was only a two-hundred level course,” Finn groans, because he wants to wallow in self-pity for at least a little while longer. “It’s called _what is history_ , for god’s sake. I thought it would be _easy_.”

“See, this is what happens when all the departments have different numbering systems,” Rey says, typing away at her laptop. “That’s just a Humanities and Sciences thing. In the Engineering school—”

“Shut up.”

“Finn, there’s tons of other history classes open,” Rey says, scanning the screen. “Seriously, none of these are full. I guess that’s the upside—we don’t get _that_ in Engineering either. Ooh, this one’s called _Japan in the Age of the Samurai_! You should take that.”

“No, I—” This wallowing thing isn’t going quite to plan. In fact, Finn has the worst feeling it’s about to come to a very unpleasant end. He sits up, clears his throat, and reaches out to grab his backpack and tug it closer.

“I think I’m actually just gonna stick with this one,” he says, focusing intently on the contents of the backpack. “The professor seems cool, and she said our first reading was written by a guy while he was imprisoned by Nazis. That’s pretty cool—I mean, you know, interesting. So…”

Finn trails off. He can feel Rey staring at him, the heat of her suspicion burning a hole straight through to his brain.

She snatches the book away before he can open it. (It’s all that aikido training or whatever; she is really, scarily nimble. And scarily a lot of other things too, sweet British accent aside.)

“Come on, out with it,” she says, holding the book aloft like a hostage—or possibly a threat. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing!”

She gives him a look. Like, a _look_ look.

Finn tries very, very hard not to look shifty.

The look intensifies.

It’s no use.

He sighs, and mumbles, “The TA is…uh. Really hot.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Rey says, sounding caught somewhere between appalled and delighted. “You’re _kidding_.”

“I am _not_ kidding,” Finn snaps, defensive, taking her distraction as an opportunity to swipe the book back. He can feel the back of his neck heating rapidly and is glad—not for the first time in his life—that it’s not readily apparent to others. “I’m talking, like, male model hot. Okay? Movie star hot. Shouldn’t be in grad school hot—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Is he on Facebook? What’s his name?”

“Uh,” Finn says. “Hot TA…Jr.?”

“You don’t have a syllabus?”

He does, and he digs it out of his backpack. “Poe Dameron,” he says. The name rolls of his tongue like honey. And then he immediately wants a bee to sting him in the ass for making such a stupid comparison. It’s a fucking _name_ , not a Shakespearean sonnet.

“Oh my god,” he says, scanning the next few lines. “He gave us his cell number. Fuck.”

“I can’t find him on Facebook,” Rey says. “Maybe he’s unlisted or something. Or maybe he’s just really pretentious.”

“I think they have pictures of all the grad students up in the History building if you really want to see him.”

“I mean, you _have_ made me really curious,” Rey says. And then she frowns again. “But you’re not seriously going to stick with this class, are you? It’ll just make you miserable. One, because it’s apparently a graduate-level class with an insane workload, and two, because you’ll be _pining_ the whole time. You’re so bad at pining.”

“I’m so _good_ at pining, you mean,” Finn says, not sure whether he’s actually helping his case or hurting it.

“Same thing. Either way, it’s not like anything can come of it. This isn’t some porno.”

“Does porn ever do the student/TA thing? I thought it was always a professor. You know, go big or go home.”

“Drop the class, Finn,” Rey says, bordering on her Serious Tone.

She’s right. Finn heaves a sigh, allowing himself one final moment of glorious self-pity.

He opens SimpleEnroll once he’s seated at his desk. It always takes forever to load, so he opens another tab to check his email. There’s already one from Professor Organa, thanking all five of them for showing up to the first class and apologizing for one tiny error: it’s not actually 300 pages they have to read by next week, but 450. Finn is just about to hit _delete_ when a notification pops up that there’s a new message attached to the chain. It’s from Poe.

 _Hey, Finn_.

_It was great to meet you earlier! Like Professor Organa said, we’re really excited to have you in the class—should be a fun and interesting quarter._

_I couldn’t help but notice you looked a little scared today, which is totally understandable. Professor O can be pretty intimidating, and I’m sure it’s probably a heavier reading load than you’re used to during the first week. But we really do want this class to be accessible to underclassmen, and I have absolutely no doubt that you’ll crush it if you do decide to stick with us. Just know that you can always come to me for help, questions, comments, concerns, etc.—just email or text me and we’ll find a time to hang out and talk. (My number’s on the syllabus.) Even if you just want to chat! Whatever I can do to make you feel comfortable, please let me know._

_Best,_

_Poe_

Finn closes the SimpleEnroll tab without checking to see if it managed to load.

It’s official: he’s screwed.


End file.
